


Simply, Not

by juvjuvychan



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juvjuvychan/pseuds/juvjuvychan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though he doesn't want to admit it, Alfredo can tell.  Sherlock likes him, and he likes Joan too.  The great detective can deduce near anything, but he can't deduce that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply, Not

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small fluff piece written during s1 after Alfredo was first introduced and became Sherlock's Sponsor and begun accepting Joan into his life.

“You like me.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I do not ‘like you‘. Your presence simply does not displease me on the same equated level as most individuals.” 

Alfredo smiled. “That means you like me.”

Sherlock glared at the other man. Whom clearly did not wish to listen, for Sherlock had deduced there was nothing especially wrong with his hearing. Though he noticed Alfredo’s hands tended to shake, especially during the colder days. Which led him to believe an injury of some sort had occurred when he was younger. Most likely due to his car thieving. Gang related Sherlock assumed, also due to the marred skin on the inside of the mans left wrist. The markings of a tattoo that had been removed. Given that Alfredo clearly had no disliking for the finer ink art, Sherlock could only deduce this particular tattoo had been one of significance and one of shame or regret. Given the mans history, it seemed gang relations was the most probable answer. 

“Clearly you suffer from the same affliction as Ms. Watson in that both of you seem to not listen when spoken too.”

“You like her too,” Alfredo responded without missing a beat. Honestly the man was infallible. 

At this Sherlock glanced away from the lock he was currently decoding. Another three—no two steps and he’d have beaten it. Though it had put up a moderately impressive fight. “I assure you I most certainly do not.”

“You do,” Alfredo said not looking away from his people watching. He liked to do that, watch people. Sherlock respected that. That keen need to observe and take people apart, break them down to the smallest little ticks they had. Though Alfredo was woefully underdeveloped in his skills. “You like her,” he repeated, “you even respect her, though you do a damned good job of hiding it. Or trying to.”

“Is this what a sponsor does then? Attempt, and poorly I may add, at picking apart their client and making wild assumptions about their person and relations with other persons.” 

Alfredo just laughed. 

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “Fine then, we’re done for the night I should think,” he said finishing up the lock with ease. “You should tell the company you work for they are in terrible trouble if that’s the best they can do.” 

“I’ll let them know that, thanks.” Alfredo said ginning as he got into the car. Sherlock turned to retreat back to his apartment when the other man called him back. “You know, you wouldn’t be trying to reject me, to reject anybody, if you didn’t care about her.” Sherlock said nothing. “I can see it, see that something happened, or someone happened. Maybe they left you, maybe they died, maybe they just stopped caring, or maybe you’ve never been able to trust easily.” He paused. “But you trust her, and I hope you come to trust me. We can help you Sherlock. If you let us.”

Again, Sherlock said nothing, and again Alfredo just smiled. It was a nice smile Sherlock noticed. Connected to a rather nice malstructure. If he knew Alfredo was so inclined he’d probably attempt to engage in intercourse. Men, women, the body didn’t so much matter to him, as the release for his did. Bodies were just that, bags of flesh to hold all the squishy bits in, while minds where the fascinating parts. At least when you found one worth looking at. 

Alfredo’s smile was nice, like Joan’s hair hanging loosely down and tumbling over her shoulders was nice. But neither was what intrigued him, neither was what made Sherlock want to keep the cold, yet strangely warm comfort they seemed to provide, near him. 

“The scar on my wrist.” Sherlock blinked, surprised. Most people, a good ninety-six point four percent of people in fact, failed to notice when Sherlock was picking them a part. They’re not gang related. "Most people assume that though, I think it’s my hat.” With that Sherlock watched him drive away, an amused glint in his eyes and smile still firmly on his face. 

Peering back at his apartment where Joan was most likely lying awake—reading she tended to read on cloudy cool nights such as this—in her bed, Sherlock wondered. Then rejected his wondering. There could be no wondering. Joan would be leaving soon and that was for the best. He’d find some other way to shake off Alfredo eventually. 

It wouldn’t do to bask in the nonjudgmental care that Alfredo provided. It wouldn’t do to continue the warm comfort Joan provided. It wouldn’t do to continue growing attached to her. It wouldn’t do to continue looking for her by his side, to seek her opinion, to actually be pleased when she challenged him. It wouldn’t do to feel that she was making him a better person. 

It wouldn’t do at all. 

So it wouldn’t, and that was that.


End file.
